Free The Single Dad Finds a Wife by Felicia Mason Page A

middle,” Lovie suggested. “I want to be able to hear and see everything.”
    â€œLead the way,” Spring said, allowing her mother to pass.
    Three of the five planning commission members were already seated at the two long tables in the front of the multipurpose room. Unlike the Cedar Springs City Council, the planning commission didn’t have chambers for its meetings, and, by mayoral decree, commission and committee gatherings weren’t permitted in city council chambers even though the space went unused during the day. The commission, these men and women who worked behind the scenes and had their actions mostly rubber-stamped by the council, were instead relegated to a multipurpose room at city hall.
    Several rows of blue-cushioned chairs were arranged in lecture hall fashion for the public and interested parties. During the holiday season, the room was festooned with greenery and cedar trees of all shapes and sizes, decorated by civic groups for the annual Christmas tree challenge modeled after one in Durham, done Cedar Springs–style.
    Spring thought of all the goodwill and positive emotions that filled the room at Christmastime. None of that was present today. To Spring’s ears, the murmurs of those gathered and waiting for the proceedings to begin sounded hostile and on edge.
    That’s because the overall sentiment of those who had come for the meeting could best be described as suspicion. It was ten minutes to three and a good thirty people were already seated and waiting for the meeting to begin with more coming in the back door. Most of them, like Spring and the historical society members, well remembered the end run that had been done on another piece of property. Before anyone knew what was happening or could do anything about it, that development deal was signed, sealed and under construction with no public input on the matter. That would
not
be the case this time.
    Lovie Darling selected a seat in the middle of the second row and greeted people as she passed them. Spring knew the position would give them eye contact with all the planning commissioners, as well as a good view of any speakers who addressed the panel.
    â€œI thought the developer was supposed to be here,” Lovie said.
    â€œI did, too,” she answered.
    The table to the left of the ones where the commissioners sat was designated as the spot for those who would address the body. Two large but empty easels were positioned near the table.
    That didn’t bode well, Spring thought, knowing that the significance of those easels hadn’t escaped her mother’s attention. Their presence indicated that there would be plans or architectural renderings to display and show off. And those sorts of plans meant that proposals had been developed already.
    She might have to make that phone call to the historical society’s attorney, after all.
    â€œI wouldn’t put it past Bernadette to have signed a contract already,” Georgina Lundsford, another local resident with a deep and abiding passion for historical preservation, hissed as she leaned forward. “She’s probably a silent partner in the development company.”
    Spring pulled her phone out of her handbag, put it on vibrate and left it on her lap.
    A few moments later, a side door off the room opened and three people entered. Spring stifled a gasp.
    Not at Cameron Jackson, her soon to be brother-in-law, or at Gloria Reynolds, the city council clerk. The man with them, in a dark blue suit and tie, the man with a laptop bag hanging from one shoulder and a large artist’s portfolio bag from the other, was the one who arrested her attention.
    In Cedar Springs for
business
meetings.
    â€œI’m an architect,” he’d said.
    She should have put the pieces together. The evidence had been right in front of her. But the context had been all wrong. That’s why she’d missed what should have been clear.
    â€œSpring,